Ascensions
by glimmerkill
Summary: It is thousands of years before the galactic war, near the time of the old republic. Stolen from her home world as a child and enslaved, Maana discovers her force sensitivity and is forced to come to terms with her fate, to choose the republic cowards who wouldn't lift a finger to free her people or the ruthless empire, who have been enabling her captors.


Maana's memories of her village and her family were fleeting and fading fast. She wasn't sure whether what she was clinging to was real, or a dream. Although she lived for 10 years with her family and community, now, ten years later, it felt as though her memories of such a place were clouded by some force beyond her sight. Still, whether what she recalled were real or a dream, Maana clutched the memory of her people close to her heart, like a scared child with a teddy bear. Even this was poor comfort though, as the recollection of her people was inextricably tied to their death.

There was a flash of red light in the chief's hut. Maana's ears rung and her screams were silent as she clasped her hands over her ears and grasped her mother's long hair desperately. Crimson bolts of light shot out across the village, and one after the other the people fell. Strangers in heavy, unmarked armor stormed the huts, burned the crops, stomped out any hope of resistance that the village defenders proposed. Their spears flew from their hands as their bodies fell to the dirt. Then, the strangers started at the farmers, who had taken up their plows and shovels in a desperate last stand against the invaders. Maana's hands were slicked with the blood which soaked into her mother's hair; she fell to the ground, and a large gloved hand reached toward her. She didn't recall much after or before that. It wasn't important. She knew now who had stormed the village, knew now who killed her mother and took her away to a harsh, hot planet with no trees in sight. In fact it was her new master's men, the mercenaries who served Juma the Hutt. Maana was now a slave.

The terrible, horrendous ringing of the blasters grew louder and louder until, with a leap of her heart, Maana jolted awake, absently wiping the sweat off her brow in a fashion that suggested routine. She let out a quiet sigh, and ran her fingers through her unwashed, sweat soaked red hair. Although she thought it might have been long due to some tradition as a child, she cropped it very short now and brushed it back as best she could. Her jaw was strong and dramatic as she deftly regained her breath, parting her lips and allowing just a small breath out, trying not to make a sound. Her cheeks were full and pale, blue eyes fluttering gently. Maana was definitely on the heavyset side, a result of the poor quality processed food portions vended to the slaves by indifferent handlers.

Maana glanced at the other slaves in the pit. The pit was actually a series of small rooms interconnected by filthy washrooms, and with only one viable exit; a heavy corellian steel door which opened up into Juma the Hutt's den. Of course, there were known to be hidden tunnels and trap doors in the pit, remnants of the cartel wars waged across tatooine's surface decades ago; but, the pit was located just underneath Harbingers' Valley. The valley looked safe; old ruins and rock formations protected against desert storms, and the sandpeople never came close to it. Of course, there had to be a reason for that. Nobody really knew why, but Harbinger's Valley served as an effective environmental threat for the Hutt's slave operation.

Presently, Maana sidestepped past the other sleeping slaves and into a small, dingey bathroom. There wasn't a door, just a small, rusted sink and a seatless toilette. Approaching the sink, Maana leaned over and splashed harsh cold water on her face, letting out a breath and drying herself off with her rags.

"Slave."

Maana reached instinctively for the shiv wrapped in her cloth belt, and procedurally spun about, ready to be pounced upon. It was not uncommon for slaves to kill others for food or money in the pit. But...nobody stirred. It seemed everybody lie asleep. Maana frowned, and decided it best to go back to sleep as long as she could before work started again tomorrow. She started for the exit, but noticed that she must have left the tap on. Turning around to shut it off, she stopped again, furrowing her brow and looking into the sink quizzically. There was a rim of dirt built up around the edge, and the taps were rusted, that was normal. There as also, however, a fair amount of dust and what looked like sand on the edges. Shrugging it off, Maana turned the tap off. Above her, a dim light flickered. She glanced up instinctively, and arched her brow. In the faint glow of the flickering light, she saw what looked like sand falling from the ceiling. _This could mean only_ -

"Maana? Are you alright?"

Hand on her shiv, Maana turned around. She repressed a sigh of relief as she looked upon the face of her friend, Ansu. Ansu was a young nautolan man of small build and rubbery green skin. His great black eyes gazed up inquisitively at Maana, as they always seemed to do. Maana hesitated; she wondered if she should tell her friend about her theory of the bathroom. If there was a hatch, hidden under the ceiling...No, it didn't matter. It might not even be a hatch, and besides, they could never cross the Harbinger's Valley. Maana just smiled and nodded, following Ansu back to her cot, situated next to his. This serendipitous proximity may have been the only basis of their relationship, but their bond was strong nonetheless. The boy did not know his age, but Maana felt he must have been younger than her 21 years. Often, he could not handle the workload given by the guards, and Maana never failed to pick it up, for she knew that his penalty would be death. This was selfish in a way, fueled not so much by altruism as fear. Fear of being alone. Maana took solace in Ansu's presence as she lied back down and shut her eyes, bracing herself with a deep sigh for continuing nightmares.

It could have been 100 years before Maana awoke, but she knew it must have been about 4 hours. Her body ached, and her rags were damp with sweat. Sweeping back her hair, she reflexively held in a groan as she rose to her feet at the sound of a terrible ringing echoing throughout the pit. Following the other slaves into the hallway, Maana knew it was time to work again. Ansu scurried up behind her.

"Nightmares again?"

"Yes. I feel like druk. I'm not sure how much longer I can go on like this."

"Wh-what?"

"I mean-don't worry man I won't ever leave you behind. But what if, you know…"

The innocence in Ansu's eyes was tinged with pain as he looked up at his friend. He always looked so sad, yet so naive, as though an ocean lay on his shoulders but he had no idea. Maana's shoulders fell and she looked away, muttering, "I just mean what if the Republic ever frees us."

"Ha! Good one, Maana. The republic wouldn't touch the outer rim planets with a ten foot pole. You had me going there, don't even think about trying to escape. It's a death sentance."

"Heh, yeah, I know.."

It was a bright day on Tatooine. It was always a bright day on Tatooine. Juma's guards, armed with blaster rifles that practically reeked of the galactic empire's factories, shoved the procession of slaves out of the dark pit and into the blinding desert. Although Juma's slaves worked across the galaxy, Maana and her peers were confined always to the same place, day after day. It was a small cut out in the desert, a miniature canyon lined with old red rocks and filthy with kyberite. Kyberite, used in the crafting of lightsabers, seemed to some a strange thing for a hutt to harvest. Maana was no fool, however, and she knew very well who in the galaxy would buy kyberite mined by slaves. It wasn't worth thinking about though. To the laborers, it was simply their daily quota. Juma was cruel when it came to the expectations and quotas he placed upon his slaves. Often, they would rise without notice, and the workers would die either of exhaustion or by the hand of an unsatisfied overseer.

Presently, as Maana and Ansu headed for their designated digging sites, a voice erupted over the loudspeakers attached to the rocks. Maana leaned down to pick up her tools, and froze as she listened intently to the deep, huttish voice booming over the digsite. "Slaves rejoice, for it is I, the great Juma the Hutt. Stop what you are doing and listen to me closely, or you will face death." The digsite fell eerily quiet as tools were dropped and motions suspended; the only sound in the desert was the mechanically distorted voice of the hutt, "It is your lucky day. I, Juma, have decided to grant mercy upon you," there were a few gasps, "all slaves will report to Overseer Goran-only after filling their quota of 100 kyber fragments. Those who do not attend can look forward to rotting in my pit." Gasps and the occassional cry of anguish rang out across the desert, inharmoniously clashing with the horrendous laughter of the Hutt over the speakers.

100 fragments?! Maana's hand coiled around her pick so tightly that her knuckles whitened. She took a deep breath so as to control her expressions, and stole a glance at Ansu. Nevermind how much her own back would break and arms melt mining that much kyber in one day, but how could he do such a thing? He could sparsely handle 70. If he didn't finish in time, what was she to do? Maana's heart was racing. She turned up her lips in disgust at herself and wiped developing sweat from her brow, hoisting her pick into the air and getting to work. Fear and anger boiled in her chest. She couldn't lose any more than she already had. Images of her mother's blood-matted hair flashed in her scattered brain as she furiously drove her pick into the rockside, creating a dust cloud which engulfed her, stinging her eyes and nose. Pulling her rags up over her mouth and nose, she persisted, unleashing a flurry of assaults onto the terrain.

A hand laid on her shoulder. Struggling to gain her composure, Maana turned around, expecting a disgruntled guard. She smiled beneath her face cover when she looked upon the concerned face of her friend. "Maana," said Ansu softly, "don't worry, you and I are going to fill the quota, and then we're going to see that oversized lizard Gorgan and then we're going to get the hell out of here."

Maana's smile faded, but she tried to sound optimistic. "Yeah, right. We'll go live it up in the coruscant apartments, buy our own personal protocol droids."

Returning to his work, Ansu grinned, "nah, I'm more of a Naboo kind of guy. I want a place in the countryside, maybe raise a few shaak."

Maana ran a free hand through her dusty hair and pursed her lips behind her cover in dismay. She knew very well her friend was trying to make her feel better but all of this nonsense talk of a future was starting to get on her nerves. "Yeah," she managed, "first we'll head to Mos Espa and win our fortunes in the casinos."

Ansu beamed. "Yeah!" It was almost as if he was genuinely excited.

For hours on end, the slaves toiled beneath the oppressing heat of the suns. Occasionally, somebody fainted, or died, and the guards who carried them away didn't care which. Dust covered Maana's skin and clothes and coated her eyelashes. It made her hair heavy and her hands coarse. Ansu chipped away at his spot slowly. His crop out from today was noticeably smaller than Maana's. She tried not to notice. Her haul of fragments was growing steadily, even better than usual; at such a rate, she thought, perhaps she could fill the quota and then some. She must have hit a sweet spot in the rock.

"Hey." It was a gruff and unfamiliar voice.

Maana did not stop her work, but replied courteously, "yes?"

"We think it would be best if you handed over that great big pile of fragmetns you've got there."

More irritated than anything, Maana turned around slowly, squinting at the figures which stood before her. It was three other slaves, she knew them only by name. The twi'lek was a man named nemra who, along with the bearded human beside him, acted as a guard dog for Bensin, who was widely considered the strongest, most formidable man in the pit. At 6'4, he towered over Maana, bulky arms crossed over his chest and chewing a straw absentmindedly. His long blonde hair was pulled back into a mangled ponytail and many scars marred his block shaped face.

"Don't mess around with other people's fragments, Bensin," Maana sighed, "you know if you turn in too many the overseers will become suspicious."

"Oh, you think so? You think you're so smarter than everyone else, don't you? You think you can talk your way out of this? The overseers don't give a damn who got the fragments as long as they're turned in-and if I don't turn in my quota I'm a dead man. Is that what you want? Do you want me dead?"

 _Yes you great ugly oaf, go fall in a sarlaac pit._ Maana composed herself and bit her tongue. As tempting as it was to tell this brute where to go, she knew that he would easily overpower her, and all of her work would be for naught. "You should go back to your designated spot before a guard notices you," she muttered, turning back to the rockside.

"Well boys, looks like we've just found ourselves a free pile of kyber. It's our lucky day, aint it?" Bensin's lackeys moved in, and Maana hesitated. She caught a glimpse of the shivs wrapped in the men's rags. Glancing at Ansu, who was too busy to notice, she stepped aside with a sigh and allowed the filthy dogs to scrape up her toil. They left behind not even a single fragment, hoarding her haul in their arms and sneering at her as they quickly made their way back to their spots.

When night fell, the horrible ring rang again and the slaves moved single file toward the pit door, at the entrance to which an overseer would count their fragments. A guard stood buy to execute anyone who had not filled their quota. Pulling off the rags from her face and sighing, Maana wiped the sweat from her face and neck and began to follow Ansu in line. He turned toward her and his face was a visage of exhaustion. His cheeks were sallow and his eyes almost seemed cloudy. His lips were dry and cracked as he parted them to speak, "h-hey, I'm so sorry to ask you this but...you didn't...happen to have 30 extra fragments, d-do you?"

Maana clasped her hand over her tired eyes and let out a gentle sigh. She bore her armful of fragments forward. After her encounter with Bensin, she had only ended up with 40 fragments.

Ansu swallowed. Maana noticed his eyes glance up at the guards patrolling the rim of the small cropout. "No," she urged, "don't try it."

"...I know, I know."

The two friends walked in silence for a while. Maana watched Ansu drop his fragment haul into a pouch of his ragged clothing. They inched closer to death with every step toward the pit door. A hateful grimace grew on Maana's face as she watched Bensin and his men have their fragments counted. Unsurprisingly, all three were cleared, and exchanged subltle sneers after they passed the range of the guards. She clenched her fists around her fragments, sharp edges poking into her leathery palms.

The night wind was growing cold by the time she approached the door. There were just a few slaves ahead of her now. Suddenly, an elderly, weathered man cried out in pain at the doorway, as evidently he had not filled his quota. Maana looked down at the kyber in her hands, then to Ansu in front of her. He was so youthful and full of hope-naive, sure, but kind. The world needed somebody like him more than it did a tired, broken cynic like Maana. Deftly, she slipped her fragments piece by piece into Ansu's pouch, careful for him not to notice. When it was his turn to be checked, he had on his person more than 100 fragments, whether he knew it or not. Ansu hung his head in resignation as a small and spindly human overseer began to count his fragments, dropping them into a massive metal cart. After a moment, the overseer spoke boredly, "alright move along nautolan."

Ansu did not move, as though he had not heard him. One of the flanking guards shoved him with their blaster rifle. Looking over his shoulder, Ansu's face was painted with horror and despair, eyes brimming with tears as he realised what Maana had done. He was quickly shoved along down the hallway and disappeared out of site as the overseer began counting Maana's toil.

"Pathetic," the overseer shook his head, "I mean really, these people are so lazy. 5 fragment? You mined 5 fragments?"

Maana ignored the rat of a man. She looked up at the dark helmet of one of the guards. "Well," she said, "get on with it then."

"Silence!" Maana's face burned as the overseer slapped her viciously with a gloved hand. "I am the one who gives orders here, not you, slave. But, you are useless, so you will die. Guard, kill this wretch."

The guard raised his blaster rifle and his finger moved to squeeze the trigger-when suddenly, in a flash, the weapon flew out of his hand. Before anybody could react, a tall, dark figure was at the doorway, gloved hand outstretched. Everybody trembled at the sight of the newcomer, and the other guard lowered his weapon.

The man who stood before them was tall and slender, slim frame accentuated by flowing black fabric draped over his black cloth bound limbs and torso. He wore a slim fitting tunic of dark leather, and his abyssal cloak seemed almost to hum with darkness. His face, shadowed by an oversized hood, was pale, almost translucent white. His lips were thin but supple; he seemed young, his bright cerulean eyes glimmering with an indecipherable emotion and his tousled blonde hair pouring out from beneath the hood. When he spoke, everyone listened intently. "I asked for slaves, overseer. I did not ask for a pile of corpses. Obviously, your quota was intended to kill. This one will go to Gorgan."

The overseer stammered, "b-but my lord, she didn't produce enough-"

` "Silence! Scum like you do not question the word of a sith apprentice!"

There was a horrible flash as lightning erupted from the apprentice's fingers and coiled around the overseer's body. He fell to the floor instantly, screaming in pain as the lightning danced around his body. His cries were hoarse and loud and echoed down the hallway. When it was finally over, his body lied motionless in the dirt. Maana looked upon the face of her saviour with what she hoped was a neutral expression. To her surprise and horror, he smiled at her. "What a kind soul," he mused, eyes darting over her face, "giving away your own kyber fragments like that. Well, you did, didn't you? You don't seem foolish enough to finish with a mere 5. No, you have compassion. More importantly you have guile, something that will serve you well in the coming days. I'm sure you've figured out by now why you've been spared, haven't you?"

Maana hesitated. She had a fairly good idea, but that idea was making her stomach turn. "No, my lord."

"Come now. What exactly do you think it is I'm looking for on a festering dump of a planet such as this? I'm afraid if you don't know then you'll prove too stupid for my uses."

"...Force sensitives, my lord?"

An insidious grin spread across the apprentice's lips and his eyes gleamed. He did not say another word, moving past the procession of slaves and heading toward an off-limits iron door in the cliffside. The guards were silent as Maana moved along down the now empty hallway. Her steps were heavy on the metal floor as she stalked the corridor, heart aflutter. She was force sensitive, then, and the sith were looking for people like her. Freedom was at last at her fingertips, and she gazed upon it in fear.


End file.
